Fix It
by Ziven
Summary: {Be Cool Universe} [Post-canon, AR, M/M] Staving off the darkness inside is not the same as banishing it. A night with Marik does only just that. For those few moments he feels desired, he feels useful, and Yami doesn't think about anything else. Marik is the closest thing to relief within his reach; he helps hide the scars. -Mnemoshipping, Yami x Marik Ishtar-


**Pairing** : Yami Yuugi x Marik Ishtar (Mnemoshipping)

 **Premise** : After losing the Ceremonial Duel, the gods gift Yami with a new body as a reward for his role in defeating Zorc. But he struggles with his existence, with purpose, with feeling cheated and being misunderstood. Yuugi is a crutch; _he_ is a burden, and he has to find something to keep himself from slipping into the deep again. He can't keep making the same mistakes.

 **Summary** : Staving off the darkness inside is not the same as banishing it. A night with Marik does only just that. For those few moments he feels desired, he feels useful, and Yami doesn't think about anything else. Marik is the closest thing to relief within reach; he helps hide the scars.

 **Continuity** : This story is based in my "Be Cool" Universe, mostly featuring older!Mokuba and badass!submissive!Yami.

 **Warnings** : There's sexy stuff in here. Pls keep in mind that there's a fair amount of angst in this as well.

 **Notes** : This story takes place before the events of both Be Cool and Stay Cool, but I don't think you have to read those to understand the themes at work here.

* * *

From the moment that he woke up in a this new body, he knew that decision had been a mistake. The remaining power in the Items were used to put him back on the earth, after he'd been shown true paradise - rest, with his friends and family. For the first time in his existence, Yami knew true doubt:

His Gods were wrong.

Yuugi saw it as a blessing, but that was impossible. He didn't belong there.

At first Yuugi was a coping mechanism. That bright smile was the most effective weapon against the depression that threatened to overwhelm him. But as the years passed Yami watched everyone grow. Otogi soared to success when Dungeon Dice Monsters launched, and even took over his father's business. Anzu went to school for dance, Honda held a steady job, and Jou and Yuugi both enrolled in University.

He had no such goals. He had defeated the Darkness and completed his task. Nothing else remained for him.

Being alive drove him mad.

Yami couldn't remember how he talked himself into taking a knife to his own flesh. Perhaps he didn't need much convincing. There was no reason to fear the afterlife because he belonged there. He could not think of many who had done more to earn their place there. And, it was where he _wanted_ to be.

That was years ago, and his failure to cross over only earned him suspicion about everything he did. That included nights like these.

"You're going out again?"

After seeing all the trouble it caused, Yami promised not to make another attempt. He was stuck there, with Yuugi, with his friends, with no future to fold out for him.

But if there was nothing else, this time offered plenty of distractions, ways to help him cope with being trapped in his own body.

"With a friend," Yami sighed. "Not to a club."

Because Yuugi didn't like that, either.

 _If only he knew._ But Yami didn't have to go to a rave to get what he needed, necessarily.

He hoped that casual attire would camouflage his motives: the classic T-shirt and jeans as a combo was pretty ambiguous. He kept his thoughts clear, too. This wasn't the first time they had this exchange.

Being connected mentally made it very difficult to keep secrets.

Yuugi's squinted at him, looking doubtful at best. "No clubs?" He could feel the pressure of that gaze as eyes tried to spot something amiss, watching as he descended the stairs into the den.

"No."

"No drugs?"

"Why gee, thanks for asking _mom_. No - no drugs."

Yuugi left the couch, and Yami forced himself to stay put. It was his own fault that these questions needed to be asked. He'd learned that lesson well: there were some mistakes that couldn't be forgotten, even when the world wasn't at stake.

And no matter how he looked at it, Yuugi's heart was in the right place. Yami was the one to prove he couldn't manage himself.

"Yami… why don't you just stay home tonight?" Bright eyes, only feet away, pleaded with him.

But there were other things lurking there, too: their link bared it all. If he canceled his plans, he would make another mistake.

"I made my decision," he told Yuugi.

Nothing was simple, and they'd already gone through this cycle: he would stay, Yuugi would force him to talk, they would get caught up in their feelings and tomorrow morning they would wake up next to each other.

Again.

Yuugi would try to make things work between them, _again_.

Yami would be unfulfilled and unhappy, and when he said so, Yuugi would be distressed and heartbroken.

Every time they touched each other, he broke a little. They were close, they knew each other more than intimately; bridging that to physicality felt natural, like opening his eyes or taking a breath.

Being together with Yuugi was _easy_.

But Yami was an anchor that weighed everyone down. Neither Yuugi or Sugoroku had to take care of him. Jounouchi and the others didn't have to care for him, help out or do favors.

The partying was supposed to be a distraction. When he was somewhere else he could pretend to be a different person, with different friends; he could be consumed by some stranger, someone he couldn't hurt and couldn't harm him in return; he knew no one else could hear his thoughts or see his fears and desires.

Yami discovered that nightmares developed an immunity to distractions after a while. So he sought more potent ones.

Sometimes even that wouldn't work. When he came home late, Yuugi nagged. When he came home dizzy and sloppy, smelling like some person he couldn't remember the face of, Yuugi cried and then nagged.

But Yami would bear it. That was better than tasting Yuugi on his tongue and hating himself for it in the morning.

"I'm going." Sights set on his destination, he skirted past the body blocking his path and headed for stairs that would take him outside.

"...you won't change your mind? I worry about you, you know."

He didn't want to know why Yuugi cared, or the intensity, or how it would never stop. All that zest and earnest, heartfelt determination always wormed its way into his heart and darkened it from the inside.

Yami needed someone to be there for him - it just couldn't be Yuugi.

All this was supposed to be temporary. Battles were meant to end. Victory meant the start of something different. Except now he was there, living and occupying space not meant for him. It wasn't the same sort of debt made by occupying someone's body, but it was just as daunting, just as rude and just as imposing.

And yet, Yami was the one who felt like a piece of shit when he stepped outside, even though he was doing the right thing. The cold, night air cut against his face. He deserved it.

Yami wasn't sure if he was really escaping anything. With Yuugi clinging so hard to the past, he couldn't be so sure that such a thing was possible.

 _Whrrr Whrrr Whrrr._ His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he moved towards the street.

A dark limo approached from around the corner. Its headlights were off.

The black blended in with the street it was turning from, but the smooth hum of the engine gave it away once it was close enough. The phone continued to buzz. At the very least, he could escape the cold.

A black, shiny door opened for him, thick steam escaping out into the air above. Yami turned back to look behind him. But Yuugi would have to go into the shop to look out of the window to see him. It would just be best if he hurried.

He ducked into the car and sighed.

"All these years later," he said, settling into the seat closest to the door, "it's still weird seeing you in a limo. I only really picture Kaiba using them."

They pulled off as soon as the door shut behind him, and Yami coughed. That wasn't steam. Dim lights lined the bottoms of the seats in the car, and he could clearly make out a long, slender hose being stretched up and across.

 _Hookah, of course._

"Sorry," was the greeting he got.

But Marik being sorry for doing what he pleased was a conflict of interest. Indulging himself in the most obnoxious way possible was a wholly accurate description.

"I hope you weren't waiting for too long," Marik said.

"Hmph. No."

Yami felt like he only made the lesser of two bad decisions, instead of a good one. Staying at home with Yuugi was definitely worse, there was no doubt about that. But Marik, smiling with abandon as though the world were some toy of his to play with, was not high on the chart of things putting Yami in a better mood, either.

It just a reminder that the world would never hold such promise for him.

To give credit where it was due, Marik noticed the dampened mood immediately. One last puff from the hookah and he put the coal out, the contraption set aside as he closed the distance between them.

"Bad day?"

 _Bad existence. The usual._ But Yami couldn't spend the rest of his time complaining. He would become a broken record and soon enough, this sort of attention would become infrequent.

As selfish as it was, he would be lost without it.

"The same. Nothing's changed." It was the truth. "I'd rather hear about your day instead." That would get things started. People loved talking about themselves; Marik most often of all. Maybe along the way he would cheer up.

They were away from the house, after all - and each second moving further away from the negative feelings that bogged down his link with Yuugi. Sometimes he couldn't tell who was affecting who. Distance was the only way to parse it out.

"First," Marik said, "here."

The gift was a kiss, not quite soft but not demanding, either. Marik made sure that traveling hands made his desires clear. They were bold, pressure hard on Yami's chest as they swept upwards and spread across shoulders and down arms. Then they smoothed back up and held his face while Marik's lips nipped and tugged.

Yami was moved to participate, by the end. Sometimes he forgot how much time passed between these visits, and how weak he became between them. If they hadn't made these plans, he probably would've let Yuugi guilt him into staying home.

When they parted, Marik frowned. "You sure you're alright?"

He could not deny that there was truth in desperation, too. "I am now."

"Did you miss me—? Of course you did." Fingers brushed against Yami's cheek. "I couldn't wait to get my hands on you."

He didn't mind that at all. The more distractions, the better.

Marik had quite a bit to share about where he'd been since his last visit. He was always excited about going new places and trying new things, even if it was mostly for work. Ishizu and Rishid always nagged him to take his work more seriously. With the way he told their stories, however, he knew that they were just as amazed with some of their destinations.

Those details were enough to get them to the hotel without any awkward silences. When they came to a stop and it was clear that they had arrived, Marik changed gears completely.

"So," he flashed a toothy grin. "We can stay here or we can go upstairs."

Yami tried not to seem as reckless with his logic. Marik was always in a rush. "You're getting down to business awfully quickly," he cautioned with a smile. "Don't I at least get dinner first?"

It didn't deter his companion one bit. "For you, anything. Where?"

Marik never objected to his suggestions, even when he was being difficult. The more Yami pushed, the more space he was given. The man appeared to be comfortable anywhere, doing anything. That adaptability inspired envy.

Being able to operate at this own pace was liberating. And although he didn't deserve it, being accommodated was just as flattering as it was disconcerting. Marik was glad to give, had much to spare, and seemed awfully smitten.

"I was just being difficult. I'm not really hungry." That intense stare stoked a slow-building fire. A pleasant warmth spread through his chest and he was glad for the dim lighting. That energy was contagious.

"Good, because I'd rather have you for dinner." Marik motioned to the door on their right, licking his lips.

Yami was absolutely sure that if he had opted to stay, there wouldn't have been any hesitation either. Fingers fumbled for the door handle and soon after he spilled out of the car.

The square of cement he'd stepped out onto was devoid of blemish. A path of them curved ahead and led to a large, overly decorated hotel archway. He recognized it: gold trim lined the doors and windows, contrasting against beige for a clean and professional look. A few bellhops and hosts were moving in and out, wearing uniforms.

Not that it made them any more distinguishable from the other guests. Most people staying there dressed formally and Yami looked fresh from the gutter in comparison.

Marik snuck up on him, dragging Yami into an embrace from behind. He was pulled back roughly into waiting hips. For just a moment, Yami shut his eyes at the sudden friction.

They did not go unnoticed. Expressions disapproved, but ultimately no one dared approach them.

A kiss pecked his cheek and he was released just as quickly. When Marik brushed past him to go inside, a hand grasped Yami's to lead him.

The interior was the same as he remembered. Gold continued to line the walls, the desks, the doorways; inside the beige was offset with a navy blue accent, large blocks of it on the walls and ceiling. The colors flew past the concierge desk lined the walls all the way to the elevator.

A small crowd waited for the next elevator to come down.

Many of the patrons actually seemed a bit more relaxed about their attire. Most of them were foreigners in varying modes of dress. Some even looked like they were on vacation - shorts and sundresses abound, much better than those outside. Those well-groomed faces couldn't fool Yami, however. He was sure that he shared purpose and intent with many of them.

When the elevator arrived several people crammed inside, but there was some space left. He shuffled forward.

Marik held him back, hands clasped tightly over his. "We'll wait."

A few others stuffed themselves in and off it went. Some others seemed to have to the same idea, and decided to forgo the discomfort. Several seconds later, the next one arrived and quite a few people stepped out. Those left behind on the last trip stepped forward, and Yami with them.

But Marik yanked him back. "No. Wait."

There was more than enough room for them to get on, but Yami did as he was told. They caught a few stares as the remaining few went up.

Fingers caressed his own, running over the knuckles and massaging his palm. The touch was warm, and he all but melted into it.

A gentle ring signaled the return of another elevator, nearly a minute later.

Marik's stride was long and powerful, propelling forward with Yami in tow. He rudely pushed past everyone exiting. Then he drew swiftly against the wall nearest the button panel, and mashed one labeled with the number 16 before abusing the 'close door' button. Through either luck or fortune, the golden doors closed without another person entering.

But his work wasn't done - Marik pressed another button and then finally seemed satisfied.

A hard tug on Yami's wrist brought them face-to-face.

This time the press of their lips together was soft, moist, slow. Marik tilted to deepen it, lips sliding as if to overtake the embrace. But it was a tease; a hand darted into darker tufts of hair to pull Yami closer, but fell back, darting a kiss elsewhere. His lips, cheeks, chin and jaw were targeted instead.

When their lips met again, Marik's made sure the embrace was short-lived. It was torture. The shallow smacks of their kisses punctuated his frustration, followed by a gasp as the other hand revealed its whereabouts. It dug into the back of Yami's pants and cupped what it could reach.

Another attempt to deepen the kiss was denied, and Marik rolled his hips hard against Yami's before he took a step back. The heat they'd generated faded quickly into the space between them.

The hand tangled in Yami's hair fell to brush against his cheek and he nuzzled it, hoping for more. It eventually dropped down, however, and only the hand on Yami's backside remained.

It wasn't enough. And the smirk on Marik's face made it clear that he knew.

"Appetizer," he tutted.

Yami growled his displeasure. "Fucking tease."

A gentle ring sounded from the elevator as they reached their floor and Marik _squeezed_. A short twirl brought them side by side. "Not for long."

Yami's skin was crawled from the touch as they combed the halls for their room. Marik refused to let go, though; he struggled to single-handedly retrieve his key card and swipe them in.

There wasn't much chance to survey the room. Marik pinched him and pinned him to the door. It slammed closed under their weight. Hands withdrew only to hold him tightly at the hips. Yami worked on removing his belt.

"I missed you a lot," Marik sighed.

Those soft lips brushed against his neck, and he squirmed. Then they parted, warm breath washing over skin before teeth began to pick and pluck. Below fingers pressed hard, nails digging in, and Yami gasped. He was still pinned against the door, held hostage.

"We should—" teeth grazed between his neck and shoulder, causing his breath to catch. "—move to the bed, maybe?"

Marik's tongue lapped over the place his teeth had just been. "We'll get there eventually." One of his hands slid inward, between, and caressed. Just as quickly, it retreated. "I have to worship you properly, first. Can't have a meal before the offering, can you?"

Marik was always _such a fucking tease_.

Yami tried to arch forward, wanting more. Lips suckled on his shoulder, the surface swollen and red and a moan crawled from his throat, low and heavy. Marik kept him pressed to the door, made sure their hips were only just barely pressed together. He twisted against the grip and grit his teeth.

" _Come on."_

Marik finally offered relief, and moved up to settle on an earlobe instead. "Wait…" Both hands moved in unison, tracing the edges of the body in his possession. They skimmed up Yami's sides, skirted his chest in favor of the bruised neck.

For just a moment, they both froze. Lavender eyes, done with their dalliances, appeared before him, studying his face. In those seconds, Yami didn't breathe. He simply forgot to.

"That's your favorite," Marik whispered, "yes?"

He was barely being touched, but it was enough. Every muscle in Yami's body drew tight, sensitive to anything making contact with it: hair on his cheek, the brush of the fabric of the clothes he wore, the small strip of skin above his waist ghosting Marik's exposed midriff - his body seemed to hum in anticipation for what would come next.

Yami nodded once. It was all that he was capable of. If Marik so much as twitched a finger on his neck, it would break him into pieces.

He was so hard already. His cock strained against his pants. His hips bucked up violently, seeking contact with the body in front of him. Pathetic as it may have been, it only would've taken a little more to push him over the edge.

A whine peeled itself from his throat. "—please—"

Marik withdrew everything. Mischievous hands fell to the sides and he took a step back, just like in the elevator. He watched.

The spasm began at Yami hips but traveled the entire length of his body. He simply burst; head rolled back, eyes shut tight. Knees straightened in an attempt to keep upright. Yami willed himself to resist the urge to fold in and collapse and every limb ached with the effort. Without Marik there to catch him, he had to force his weight against the door and try to keep himself up. His fingers clenched as tension moved through him and he forced it to remain contained.

"You didn't come, did you?" Marik asked. Concern hung from every word. Yami imagined he was pouting. Either way, he didn't wait for an answer. "Come here." He beckoned with a finger.

He undressed Yami from head to toe, but it was a slow and meticulous process. Marik took his time loosening buttons, untying laces, rolling fabric down rather than tugging and pulling. This was a ritual the man held sacred. No matter where they were or what they planned to do, this part was always the same. Yami knew better than to fuss or complain.

When he finished, Marik undressed himself.

"You didn't have a good day," he said. A gentle hand lifted Yami's chin so that they could lock eyes again. "Tell me about it."

Yami bit back a rude reply. Anything besides sex was not a priority, but there was no room to argue here. Even if Marik already heard it ten times, the situation being the same every time he asked, Yami would have to recite it again.

The imprints of those shivers still tingled on his skin. He could either comply or all of this - everything - would stop.

Marik beckoned again, for Yami to follow him further inside.

The room was quite spacious. There was a sitting area just inside, with a couch on one side, and a television on the other. Plush carpet hugged his toes as they crossed it, yielding to the weight of each step. The sitting area opened up to the room proper, revealing another TV and a wooden dresser trimmed with the hotel's signature gold. Then there was a bed, large and covered in Marik's clothes. Beyond that, across the room, was a sliding door that opened up to a balcony.

Between these two was the bathroom, off to the side and enshrined in opaque glass. Marik went in. It was white, pristine; a large tub dipped into the ground on the right, and a shower was set into the wall further back.

"Not enough color, I know," Marik sighed, "so don't say it. I would've liked a nice blue. Bath, or shower?"

Yami's lip turned up in disgust. "Neither."

He stepped closer, a hand reaching out to trail across the small of Marik's back. Pores prickled under his fingers and he was tempted to trace over some of the glyphs further up. They could be sexy, sometimes, when he didn't think about what they meant.

"Ah—" the shock was quickly subdued, however, and Marik asked again: "Bath or shower?" The sharp edge made his insistence clear.

Yami's sigh was loud and dramatic, and it echoed around them. "Bath, I guess."

They were, in fact, his preference. Most of his memories of the past were painful and full of regret, but a few positive associations remained: sunrises, views from tall heights, summer breezes - and baths; things that made his heart ache because he missed them. In a way, that was much better than the pang of true loss.

Marik was pushy, but he seemed to think it was for the greater good. He wasted no time in drawing water for them. A quick trip outside yielded soap, which he put to use immediately.

The tension between them was falling fast and Yami couldn't stop it.

"Talk," Marik demanded as the tub began to fill. "What did he say this time?"

It wasn't so much what was said, as it was what had been said before. Yuugi's desire to revisit such a painful cycle, because he thought it was better than being apart. Either way, Yami wasn't comfortable talking about it. He wrestled with the idea of being difficult. Maybe he could just refuse.

But Marik didn't understand the concept of 'no'.

"He keeps… do we really have to do this?" he crossed his arms, hands gripping his sides. "It's not going to help."

Marik didn't turn away from the tub. Instead, he brushed his fingers through the rising suds and adjusted the taps.

"I want to know."

The frustration from earlier seeped into his bones and just like that, Yami seethed. "He just keeps trying to push me. He asked me to stay tonight. If I had, we would've had the same conversation we always do. He would ask the same questions over and over. He wants me to change my answer. He wants things to be different."

Yami wanted things to be different, too. If he could have things his way, none of this would be a concern. He wouldn't be standing there, with Yuugi or Marik or anyone. That was why he didn't want to talk about it. It was a circular problem that could (so far as he was concerned) only be solved by removing him from the equation entirely.

"I can't blame him," Marik said. The gushing water ceased abruptly, and he gestured to it. "Get in."

Resigned to not getting his way, Yami moved forward and stepped in - then slipped. He felt his heel land awkwardly and he scrambled for the edge with his hands. Marik was suddenly closer, ready to catch him. But the moment passed and he laughed instead.

Once they were both in, suds rose to the top. The warm water settled at shoulder level. It was a much deeper tub than it looked.

"So how did you get all worked up, then?"

"I wasn't 'worked up'," Yami snapped. "I was fine when you picked me up." Scowling, he threw up his hands. The water swished and sloshed around him; tufts of suds went flying. "I didn't come here for this. If I wanted to talk, I would've."

Not that it would deter Marik at all. The way that was jaw set made it clear that nothing had changed. Things would be done the way he wanted, or not at all.

"We never talk about these things, but they're important. How do you think I end up feeling when everyone's together and I can see the way he looks at you? You think I don't get jealous?"

Yami scoffed. "You? Jealous?"

The smirk on Marik's face said it all. "You're right. He's nowhere near as fabulous as I am. But if I were?" He began to move closer, inching closer until they were side by side. Once they were touching, he nuzzled into Yami's neck. "I think I like being a secret. Makes it hotter. Like when Jounouchi needed to drop those cards off to Yuugi and I had you pinned down so you couldn't answer the door. Or when you were on the phone with Yuugi while you and I were—"

"I get it. You like being secretive."

"Don't you?" Learning up, Marik bit the untouched side of Yami's neck, tongue darting over the area soon after. "The bath isn't so bad, is it?"

Yami wouldn't lie. The warm water was relaxing and whatever soap Marik picked smelled lovely. Rather than voice it openly, however, he turned into wandering lips and the two of them shared a few, short kisses.

"Don't get me started," Marik told him, voice seductively low. "I was planning to get through this unscathed."

"You know I wouldn't make it that easy."

Their lips locked again. Yami lingered, catching Marik's and holding them for a little longer than before. It wasn't often that he could tempt Marik away from plans already made but that wouldn't stop him from trying.

"You've kept me waiting," he added, and projected all the haughtiness he could muster. Yami drew himself up, looked down at Marik from the corners of his eyes. "You know how I feel about that."

"Not for long, I promise," Marik cooed. "You should have picked the shower." His mischievous smirk held unmade promises.

But with that exchange the mood was etched in stone; there would be no more delays. They washed quickly, and more kisses were exchanged in the silence that prevailed. Marik was a master at keeping himself just out of arm's reach, and he made sure that they stayed that way. He pulled away with ease whenever Yami tried to trap him close. It was cruel punishment.

By the time they dried themselves off, Yami was simply _ready_ , and he didn't bother to hide it. There was nothing he wanted more than to be writhing on the bed in bliss.

The two of them had stayed here before, and this room was the same as all the others, drenched in beige and gold like the outside. Directly at the foot of the bed was a small couch patterned in a swirl of those colors. Two gold chairs were positioned near the doors to the balcony, a beige table between them. The sheer amount of furniture made the place feel more lavish. All he could think about was defiling Marik on every piece, to lay claim to his lover on every surface.

The bed had been cleared at some point between their entrance to the room and the bath. Marik's suitcase was on the side of the bed, covered in the mound of clothes from earlier. The sheets were too white and Yami hated that, but that wasn't enough stop him.

Marik sat on the small couch, legs crossed, an elbow resting on his knee as he considered Yami. He looked both elegant and sexy.

Yami stroked himself a few times, teasing.

When Marik chuckled, licking his lips, Yami resisted the urge to respond with a moan. "I love making you wait," he confessed.

Chin resting in his palm, he stared at the erection in Yami's hand. Where it was difficult to tell just seconds before, the lust now read clearly in those lavender eyes.

"But it's worth it. I've never been disappointed." He sucked his bottom lip up in between teeth, chewing thoughtfully. Then he stood. "And I guess you've waited long enough."

Yami watched him strut, kept his eyes on the twist of those hips as Marik made his way to the bed.

That was what made him so irresistible. The man was pure, walking sex; he exuded it. From that cheeky smile to his dramatic gesturing, from mussed hair to the curl of his toes there was not a single thing Marik Ishtar did that didn't remind Yami of passion shared together. Every word was spoken as though he were teasing a lover. Each action seemed possessed by lewd undertones - and probably were. Marik was always flirting, teasing, wanting. He was perpetually enticing. His very presence made Yami want to pin him on the spot.

So when Marik beckoned towards the bed, Yami followed like a loyal puppy.

This time there was no ceremonious pause. No bated breath. They fell into each other and all restraint was gone.

Marik didn't pull away when Yami's tongue forced its way into his mouth, didn't resist when he was guided into a straddling position. He gave freely to sate the hunger he built.

Pressed against bright sheets, Yami embraced him with wicked intent. Hands, wrapped around his head, kept him entrenched in kisses; Marik wasn't allowed to pull away even for a second. Yami kissed the breath from him and wouldn't let him have more, releasing only when dark fists beat against flesh for mercy.

When they came apart both chests heaved for breath; lips swollen, hair disheveled, the two simply basked. Marik gulped for air.

"Shit. I didn't think you wanted it that bad."

But there was no commentary from Yami. "Get the lube," he ordered, and stroked himself until he shuddered.

More patience would be required for what he had planned. He had to pace himself. While Marik rummaged in his luggage again, Yami repositioned himself. Propped up against the headboard, he sat upright, legs spread for comfort.

It was hard not to smile as Marik threw clothes around. He swore. For once something wasn't going his way.

"Don't tell me you lost it?" Yami taunted him.

Marik's patience would only last as long as what he'd planned to encounter. Anything beyond that and he would be a mess.

But Marik returned with a small bottle after a minute or two. But it wasn't the only thing he brought back. "Take this," he said, handing over a black marker. "I want you to write on me."

Yami didn't even try to hide his confusion. "What?"

Marik perched on his knees and leaned forward. "Label me." He crawled closer until his face was pressed to Yami's neck, tongue darting out to get a small taste. "—anything," he added. The smile on his face was wide, "like 'pet' or 'slave', or—"

If something like that was what he wanted, then the answer was easy.

"Mine," Yami said.

He took Marik's chin in both hands and brought them together for another kiss. This second embrace would belong to him, too. Those hands slipped into Marik's hair, tugging to grant him better access to that burning mouth. The marker fell between them, forgotten. He pulled back when Marik's hands began to wander; given enough time, they'd have him reduced to putty and he wasn't ready for that yet.

"What are you going to write?" Marik asked. Yami felt around the sheets for the marker.

That chest was bared proudly, a mad grin affixed to Marik's face as the tip of the marker hovered it. In large sweeping letters, Yami scrawled diagonally from top to bottom. The ink kept together well, though the strokes looked more streaks.

He tossed the marker away. "You're mine," he repeated.

"Yes," was the answer, and they kissed again. Marik was noisy this time, a lilt wafting between them as they groped at each other. He sounded helpless, yielding. He melted in Yami's hands.

He didn't stop until Marik was on his back. The heat and the tingle of their lips pressed together for so long made him ache with wanting, too.

"More," Marik demanded. He twisted and turned, pale hair splayed beneath him.

One of his hands uncurled to reveal the small bottle he'd grabbed earlier. He pushed Yami away.

"Get the—" he pointed toward the head of the bed. "—under the pillows."

It was hard for Yami to keep from rolling his eyes as he turned away, and he swore underneath his breath. He wanted nothing more than to just bury himself deep, so of course Marik would deny him. But he did as he was told, lifting each of the four pillows before finding his prize.

"I wanted to use it earlier," Marik said, "but I didn't have time." The sigh that followed seemed filled with real remorse.

Marik's toys were just the way the man liked everything else: grandiose and gaudy. At the very least, he could say it was interestingly colored; gold but not made of metal. The paint was marbled on the surface, a pattern that ended up looking like molten lava - the color flowed around the dildo seamlessly and paired perfectly with the ridges on its surface.

Being mildly impressed by its composition made it a little harder to be upset about using it.

The bottle of lube was tossed his way as returned to Marik's side, so Yami made sure to use a lot it. He coated his hands, too.

"Come on," Marik urged. He lifted his hips and squirmed. Patience was definitely not his strong suit, especially not when they were deviating from his plans. His arms were already tucked to his sides, hands curled up, fingers tracing his own entrance.

Yami shivered, and briefly considered shoving himself inside instead.

Their eyes met, and Marik cautioned, "Don't you dare." Then lavender eyes squeezed shut and he moaned, "Wait."

Yami took a deep breath. "Fuck." He crawled over to Marik with the toy in his hands. What came next were orders: "Up. On your stomach."

He watched hungrily as Marik turned over, smooth skin sliding against the sheets. "You know what I want," Marik murmured.

Yami bit his lip as slim hips raised up and wriggled seductively. He could hear the near-chuckle behind each word, and knew that if he cared to look, there would be an antagonizing smile curled at the ends of those lips.

So Yami snapped back, "You said I wouldn't have to wait."

Shoulders contorted as Marik turned to face him. Bright eyes focused on him. "Just a little, okay?"

When Yami placed a hand on the center of Marik's back, the entire body tensed under his touch. The glyphs stretched ever-so-slightly as muscles tightened, braced, held. Fingers slid down the curve of Marik's spine then down to the small of it, between the hips he loved, up and over the swell of his ass. Yami traced its shape to the underside, lifting, testing. A shiny trail glistened on the surface of Marik's skin. The sight made him squirm.

He squeezed, and considered simply spreading him open.

" _Ah_ ," Marik panted, "Yami—!"

"What was it you said?" he taunted. "An offering?"

Fingers trailed across, and one burrowed between soft cheeks to brush against the puckered opening.

"Oh, just fucking do it, Yami!"

There was a bit of resistance but Marik still moaned as he pushed back. Immediately Yami felt muscles clench around it.

"Easy," he told Marik. "Relax."

"I wouldn't have to if you would just—ugh."

Yami dropped the dildo in favor of giving Marik a long, hard stroke from base to tip. It was awkward, reaching underneath, but it was worth it to watch the shock and pleasure register on Marik's face as a slick hand wound its way around his cock. When Marik began to fist the sheets, hissing, Yami knew the going would be easier. It didn't take long to have him stretched.

Loathe as he was to do it, he worked the toy in slowly; the noises Marik made and the way his body struggled, all shivers and seizing, motivated him. By the time half of it had disappeared, Marik was flat on his stomach, whimpering, one leg nearly hanging off the edge of the bed.

"Up," Yami repeated, tapping on trembling thighs to catch Marik's attention.

Yami tutted. The arch in Marik's back wasn't as deep, his face pressed in this the sheets in a half-hearted attempt at quiet; a shameless display. It was sloppy.

"More," Marik breathed.

So Yami obliged. Though he was gentle, Marik still made the most delicious sounds, still looked just as inviting. He could picture baring down over this bronze body, buried deep, feeling each heave of his chest as they panted and moaned together.

It was a lovely image, and between his legs he ached.

"Don't stop," Marik ordered. He swayed and nearly lost his balance. Yami knew it wouldn't be much longer until he was on his stomach again, twisting and turning.

"F-fuck it," Yami said, and took Marik's hips in both hands. He removed the dildo with a sharp tug.

Marik was a mess of responses: a deep breath of anticipation, a whimper, a small groan of disapproval, a forced sigh; by the time he realized what happened, he nearly thrashed in Yami's grip.

"Yami—" he coughed, then cleared his throat. His posture turned rigid, upset by the loss of control.

"A little, you said. A little. _I_ need a little." Yami's voice was raw and wanting and he didn't care.

Those shoulders twisted again, made sure that Yami could get a good look at his face.

"Okay," Marik conceded. "Okay. Just wait—"

Too late.

Yami shuffled forward and sighed out a moan as he slid inside; he bit back a whimper. _Fuck it's so good._ Moist warmth enveloped him and too quickly it felt as though they were melting together. His thrusts were fast and Marik was slick and there was no resistance.

Marik moaned, the sound rolling off of his tongue.

Then he squirmed. "Wait—wait! _Fuck_. Wait—Yami, stop!" Hands clamped over Yami's and they were forced apart.

Marik slithered to the edge of the bed, turning over onto his back. Hair disheveled, legs splayed, he looked gorgeous and Yami wanted to gobble him up. The high of fucking faded fast, however, and Yami didn't want to lose it. He moved closer.

Marik held up a hand. "Goddamn it," he gasped. "You have _zero_ patience." He brushed pale hair out of his eyes.

Yami snorted at the idea, considering how long he'd waited.

"I guess I should take it as a compliment."

"You should take it as 'stop being selfish'."

Marik crawled back over him, closing the distance. He leaned close until their faces were only a few inches apart. "Fine. Lay back."

Insistent hands pressed down until Yami did as he was told. They smoothed down his chest to his thighs and converged between them. They stroked slowly and he throbbed against such tight confines.

He wished those hands were around his neck again.

Lips pitched down as though to swallow him but fell short, planting a kiss on the tip of his head. "What…? Come on. _Fuck_ …" Then Marik withdrew, slipping away from him and off of the bed.

"Hush. It's your fault the bed's so damned messy. Don't move."

Yami's whole body seemed to thrum in time with his cock. He wanted to scream 'fuck you' and just finish himself off, but if he played nice he might get what he wanted.

Marik rustled through his bags again. A small snap sounded, and then, "You're always ruining my plans, Yami. I thought you were supposed to be good at following directions. Roll over to the edge where I can reach you. Close your eyes."

Yami stretched against the sheets to hide his excitement. He shut his eyes, but he was pretty close a corner of the bed already.

"Don't move."

The carpet refused to give away Marik's position. A few moments of nothing passed - just Yami lying there, waiting, resisting the urge to come without any help.

The touch on his leg was sudden and he curled into himself, shivering. He opened his eyes in just enough time to watch Marik cackle. "I _love_ doing that."

"This is why I have trust issues."

"Oh, no. We both know that's not true." A gloved hand walked fingers up from Yami's calf up to his knee. "Your turn. Up. Bend them. You'll need it - I promise."

The other hand, lubed up, stroked his erection from base to tip. Yami moaned deeply, hips grinding into touch he desperately wanted. He squeezed his eyes shut to try to focus. Marik pried his legs apart.

"N-no too much. I'm—"

The motions suddenly stopped, and Yami didn't know if he was relieved or wanted to cry; he was _so close._

"Oh, I know." He didn't have to see Marik's smile to know it was there. "I kind of just want you to make a mess all over the place. Doesn't look like it would take much."

A gloved finger prodded at his entrance. Yami sighed and tried to relax.

"I'm glad you didn't turn it on," Marik mused. "I probably would've died." He chuckled.

Yami paced his breaths, trying to focus on keeping still until Marik could press deep enough. He twisted and grunted as he adjusted but the fingers alone wouldn't be enough.

"Fuck, Marik, I'm almost—" He arched up and hissed as fingers curled inside.

"No noise?" Marik asked. "You're usually—" He leaned over the edge of the bed. A hand pressed flat on Yami's stomach and held him down. The fingers inside twisted as he shoved deep—

It hurt and Yami cried out. His body seized and shivered and he bit his lips against the moan that followed. His hips struggled against the hand holding them down, seeking more and precum pooled in his lap.

"That's better." There was relief; Marik relented, fingers massaging gently. "I love your noises. And since I'm leaving tomorrow, I need enough sounds to remember until I come back. You know?"

Yami kept his eyes closed, panting, hands fisting the sheets at his sides. His limbs were filled with tension, legs braced against the warm waves that washed over him.

Marik took his time. Soon enough he could fit three fingers but they kept at a shallow, tantalizing depth. Sharp pinches of pleasure pickled on his skin and it was harder to relax. The fit was tight and Yami grit his teeth. It felt like he was close to being numb and the idea made him want to cry.

 _I'm going to fucking kill him._

"Fucking _please, h-hurry up,_ " his words slurred into a moan. His head tossed against the sheets. "You keep teasing—"

"I know. It's great watching you squirm. I might ask you to beg."

His orgasm was just a few, good strokes away - inside or out. "I'll beg," he cried. " _Please—fuck, let me fucking come—_ " His hands grabbed at his own cock but Marik pushed them away.

"What are you going to give me?"

"—whatever the fuck you want!" Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

"Everything?"

" _Yes._ " But he was too close to the edge now; it didn't matter. "Fuck yes! Keep going—" His body was on fire and he wanted to burn.

Marik twisted his hand again, fingers working deep. They brushed just the right place and Yami fell apart.

There was some sinister sound in his throat. Marik crawled onto the bed to unfold him long enough to keep stroking. It was too much. Yami trembled so hard it hurt. His voice cracked and he moaned loudly into his hands. He fought the hands trying to hold him still while in throes, he didn't want to be touched. Everything hurt until he collapsed, but it still felt good.

"Mm. You know how to make music."

His limbs tingled. They ached with invisible weight that kept him pinned. Cum pooled on his stomach and trickled down the insides of his thighs. It was too hard to anything but breathe or bask.

Moments blurred together. He blinked and Marik was next to him. It was easier to breathe. The glove was gone somehow.

"Ooh, that was wonderful," he said. Lavender eyes watched Yami closely. "Not sure if you ever sounded like that before. I'm sure they could hear you down the hall. I hope we get complaints."

Yami swallowed. His throat was dry.

"We should take a shower this time," Marik added.

A nip to his ear caught him by surprise, and Yami gasped. Marik stretched and swept damp hair from Yami's face, wiped sweat from his brow. The smile aimed at him was mischievous; those eyes were still full of hunger.

Yami struggled to find his voice. "I—" he coughed. "You're going to kill me."

Marik pouted. "Rest a little." Fingers trailed down to Yami's cum-stained belly, and stole some for a taste. "We'll see." A mouth sucked greedily on the tips.

He couldn't spare the energy to look away from the ceiling, so Yami closed his eyes instead. "I can't," he insisted. It felt as if someone had replaced his blood with stone. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Hm. Maybe you'd be willing to do something else for me in exchange, then?"

"As long as I don't have to move." Exhaustion moved quickly to fill I nowhere heat once was.

"Tell me," Marik said. He sat up. When Yami opened his eyes, a smile shined back at him.

"Tell you what?"

The looming smile grew wider. "You know what."

Yami groaned as he made an attempt at movement: he pointed his toes, trying to rid his legs of stiffness.

"I'm glad we found each other."

Marik beamed, flashing teeth. "You make it sound wonderful. Like _Destiny_ \- oh, don't make that face. No frowning."

Yami's relationship with fate was dubious at best. It was the case of everything he'd been subjected to. He was haunted by the concept, unsure of his own decisions because of it. Where did it end and he begin? It was a depressing cycle to contemplate, and he didn't want that here.

This was good: the warmth of Mark's body, the soothing sound of his voice, the static of his touch; these were the things he wanted to focus on. He'd been catered to and sated.

Yami was determined to seek out a distraction. "Marik?" he called.

"Hm?"

"Kiss me."

A rosy glow spread across Marik's cheeks. Bright eyes glanced away from him, and lashes fluttered before their gazes locked again. Lips curled and were caught between teeth.

"Of course." His voice was soft.

Marik's lithe body rolled over onto Yami, straddling him. Cum smeared between them as they embraced.

The kisses were shallow at first, pecks that opened up more and more until Marik grew greedy; he plundered, his tongue tasted deep. Each one was messier than the last. He sucked and nipped at Yami's lips, he stole breath, left them bruised and sore.

Yami finally had the strength to move. Both hands smoothed down the curve of Marik's back. It was such an exquisite shape, his favorite part of the body poised above him. A simple stretch was a tease, an arch an invitation for sex. His cock twitched painfully at the thought.

Marik pulled at Yami's lips with his teeth. He sighed happily. "I love it when you touch me."

"You better."

"I do." Rich laughter wafted over Yami's jaw.

The two of them were lazy about getting up. Several attempts ended with them rolling over each other, exchanging more kisses, more touches, then resting before they did it again. An hour passed without much progress - instead they had bruised lips and flushed skin to show for it.

Finally Marik asked, "Did you need to go home tonight?"

"No." There was nothing there for him but frustration.

"Do you want to?"

"No. Do I have to?"

"Flight's not until night."

"Mm."

"Sleep, then." Marik yawned. "I'm going to."

He made good on that promise. Yami watched lids flutter closed, watched as breaths became deep and slow. But then he stirred.

"I wish I could stay longer," Marik mumbled. "You make everything better."

When Yami thought of the alternative: a sniffling Yuugi, constant questions and suspicion, the arguments, the anger, the worry…

"You, too."

Marik rolled over onto his stomach. An arm reached out, searching blindly for a pillow. After a few moments it retreated, unsuccessful. He crossed them both and laid his chin there instead.

"You should just come to Egypt with me. Let me take care of you."

An appetizing idea, on the surface. But Yami wasn't fond of the idea of exchanging dependency on one person to another. Yuugi and Sugoroku struggled enough trying to make him comfortable.

"My place is here." His eyes traced over Marik's silhouette.

"Of course. But the offer still stands. Any time." Then Marik asked, "Feel better?"

"Hm?"

"I won't be able to sleep unless I know," he yawned, "that you'll leave in better shape than when you got here."

 _Doubtful_. Yami chuckled.

"I have a reputation to uphold. We can go again."

Yami shuddered at the thought. There was something flattering about that sort of attention. No one could say that Marik Ishtar wasn't thoughtful.

"I couldn't even if I wanted."

Sometimes it was overwhelming. Yami felt he was nothing to look twice at, and he was bad at returning that same sort of care. He was better at mirroring what was shared with him.

"That's what I like to hear. I'll ask again in the morning." Another yawn. "Want breakfast?"

That was a trick question. Yami knew it didn't matter what he said - Marik would talk him into it either way. "Sure."

"Mn. Good. Night."

Peace did not find Yami easily. He was a worrier. When left alone his thoughts centered on familiar patterns; tried to break every one apart and put them back together.

This night itself was the piece of a pattern: Yuugi being insufferable, Marik being in town.

Running from one problem to another seemed the only thing that Yami was good at. He wasn't sure which was harder: explaining himself to someone who wanted more, or explaining himself to someone who wanted anything.

It was cruel to run. Marik helped hide the scars but couldn't heal them. And Yuugi had no one to perform that service, even.

But suffering together was worse. Despite being in two separate bodies, their link was still strong, still bothersome. Being in close quarters, pitying each other, would only end one way. It happened before: a night in each other arms, painful and pathetic, followed by days filled with tears and regret and confusion.

Neither of them deserved to go through that again.

Yami wished he could just make it go away. He was the problem in the first place; a relic that didn't belong.

He blinked at the ceiling and sighed.

Marik stirred again and turned to face him. "You aren't sleeping." He smacked his lips and groaned softly.

"Can't," he lied. "Light's still on. Too messy to get up."

"Really?" Thin lips formed a scowl. But Marik forced himself up on all fours to crawl out of bed.

"You don't—"

"No more excuses." Marik crossed the far side of the bed, past him and to the light switch. The room become near pitch-black. "I know what you're doing. Don't hide it."

After a few more seconds, Marik settled next to him again. Their arms brushed each other.

"Out with it. I'm serious this time."

 _Fuck._

Hand fumbled in the dark, smacked his stomach before reaching low, grasping Yami's flaccid cock.

"H-hey!"

Fingers curled tight. They squeezed until he winced and shivered. "I will fuck you into a coma if I have to."

Yami covered Marik's hands with his own, trying to pry them apart. " _Ra_ —Marik, sex doesn't solve every problem."

Nevermind that making him a hypocrite.

"Duh. But I'm sure I could convince you. If you won't sleep, you can at least talk. Didn't you used to talk to Ryou about this stuff?"

That was different. Ryou already understood. Ryou always understood.

He stretched, trying to buy himself a little time. There was just no easy way to convey his thoughts, no way to explain that Marik was more or less the product of the same forces that led him here.

"It's hard to talk about a problem," he said, "when _you_ are the problem. I'm ungrateful. I'm a coward. I'm a burden. I'm useless. I don't want to be here. And I cannot cope with that."

There was no immediate answer. Marik seemed to press closer; they were flush. He let go. Silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of shifting sheets.

In that same soft whisper from earlier, Marik said, "Never." The tone forced goosebumps on Yami's flesh. "You've never been that. You're good, Yami."

 _We should call Yuugi,_ he thought. _And ask if he thinks I'm good._

But that wasn't fair, and Yami didn't have the courage to suggest that aloud. Instead, he concentrated on Marik's voice and how earnest it sounded. Regardless of what was true, the man next to him meant every word. Whether it was naivete or ignorance - it was sweet.

"I owe you my life. I'm glad you're here."

That was a sort of faith Yami couldn't bring himself to betray again. He forced a small smile. It was the best he could muster.

"To me," Marik continued, "you're perfect."

If only he had something important to do, some other great quest to complete; that loyalty would carry him through. But now there was only Yami and his demons, and he couldn't bring himself to face them. He tried to soak up the affirmation, wanted to believe it was true.

"If you're the problem," Marik finished, "nothing needs to be fixed. So don't worry about it. People get hurt sometimes, but they can heal too."

"Thank you." A small peck graced his cheek, and Yami sighed. He _really_ wanted to believe it.

Arms pulled him somehow even closer. He clung to that warmth. He wrapped himself in that hope and ideal, in that possibility that he was simply cracked and not broken. He wanted to lose himself in it; then it would become like fate and destiny and wouldn't be able to tell where he ended and it began.

Maybe, for Marik, he wouldn't be a mistake.

{FIN}


End file.
